Who is Jackson Rippner?
by Pickfair27
Summary: Who is Jackson? Lisa needs answers, and Jackson's always nearby to help out. They both confront his past.
1. Chapter 1: Introduction and Updates

_Who is Jackson Rippner?_

_By Pickfair27_

_Disclaimer: As stated by others, I do not own these characters, nor have I created them. I simply honor the writer who gave them life and the individuals that portrayed them, as well as all of the other staff on the film. _

Jackson Rippner, that very moment, sat in a parked car, watching Lisa Reisert's house. Ever since his associates had helped him escape from the hospital, he had been unemployed. He had failed at his job, and when someone fails at their job, they are fired. He supposed he was fired in that sense, but in simpler terms, he was never given another mission, sort of like when an adjunct professor is forced out by never getting another class to teach. Jackson knew, as he had taught for a bit.

He didn't care, though. His employers were not threatened by him, so they didn't care what he did now. If he became a threat to them, they would have known, but he wasn't interested. He wasn't interested in much these past few months, except for Lisa Reisert. She had thrown his world into turmoil, catapulting his long held belief system far from where he could even feel it. He hadn't felt this way in a long time.

It had been a long and arduous physical recovery, and since he had been under watch the whole time, by a guard posted outside of his door, not that relaxing, to be honest. He didn't feel any shame at his failure, nor any regret. He simply accepted things the way they were. He did feel angry at Lisa, but not for the reasons he thought. He had felt as though he had figured out certain things about himself and the world, but she had put that all into doubt. She had asked him questions, fought back in a way that shocked him. He simply hadn't expected anyone like her could exist anymore, in this complacent, spoiled culture Americans lived in.

Ironically, even though he wasn't receiving a paycheck anymore, he was doing the same thing he had done when he was getting money for it: watching Lisa. He watched her all the time, trying to figure out what it was about her that was different, what is was that appealed to him, yet disgusted him so. He thought she would be no different than the other sheep he had dealt with in the past, and in a way, that was true. But in many ways, it wasn't. He wasn't worried about the lack of a paycheck, since he had enough money to live on for the rest of his life. He was 34 years old, and set. He never had to work again. Therefore, he decided that he would concentrate on his education, which was studying Lisa Resiert.

When he first began to watch her, about three months after that fateful red eye flight, he despised her. After all, he had been in the hospital for at least a month, seething in the fact that she had attacked him; had wounded him to almost the point of death! How dare she affront him.

So, when he made his dash for liberty, he decided that he would watch her. Was it for revenge? Was he going to hurt her? He wasn't sure, wasn't sure at all. At first, he did feel that's why he undertook the chore, but after following her and studying her for two months, he wasn't sure what his feelings were. He had obviously been attracted to her when he first met her, and the same was true now, but for a different reason. She had a tenacity, a conviction about her that he hadn't seen in anyone else, ever. Possibly not even himself. Yet he felt pity for her; he was like she years ago, a type of idealist, and he had long convinced himself that his vision of the world then, hers now, could never exist.

It was odd, but Lisa had no idea he was watching her, stalking her, so intently. You think she would have been more aware of this kind of thing, but he sensed it was beyond her control.

The past three months, he noted, had been a lot different for her than it had been for him. She had literally fallen apart. She took an immediate leave of absence at her job, and quite simply, stayed home, hardly ever venturing out, or leaving the couch or bed. She withdrew, much to the concern of her friends and family, into a deep depression. She was convinced to visit psychiatrists, who all diagnosed her with "post traumatic stress disorder," probably an accurate conclusion, Jackson thought, but without any real value. They put her on anti-depressants, mood stabilizers, and anti-anxiety drugs. She just wasn't getting better.

It perplexed him to see her this way. How could someone have so much fight in them, so much vigor, be reduced to this? It pained him in a way, for Lisa had given him hope, hope that there were those out there like her, who had purpose and a reason for living, unwilling to become the victim he attempted to make her.

She went for days without eating, then days of eating everything in sight. She still took a shower every day, bit always dressed in pajamas, and only watched television: sometimes merely flipping channel after channel, but never registering anything. She never read anymore, not even those ridiculous self-help books that she and her father had had some predilection for. He sighed and decided to call it a night. He had plenty of surveillance equipment stashed in her house so that if he felt like it, he could watch her from his home, which wasn't too far from hers, anyway.

When he returned home that night, throwing his jacket on a nearby table and ordering out, he decided to take a shower before his food arrived. He showered quickly, efficiently, as he had done in every aspect of his life. After he finished, he looked into the mirror, into his blue eyes that everyone claimed were so clear, so penetrating. He knew that those people were fools, drones, who knew nothing about what went on inside of him, beyond those eyes, those cheeks, those lips. He took advantage of the fact that the culture and country he lived in was so superficial that all he had to do was flash a smile, look handsome, and he was trusted. No one looked beneath the surface anymore, and he used that to his advantage. The shallow world of today had hardened him.

He studied his face, not for the first time, and knew without a doubt that he had the ability to charm others with his features, his gestures, and his intelligence. He had assets that others didn't possess. He had been so successful in what he had done, thought he had had it all figured out, until that bitch had entered his life. He immediately regretted the harsh thought, as he didn't always feel that hatred, that loathing for Lisa. He did care for her, unlike anyone else he had ever met. He knew he was physically attracted to her, but that had been the case before he had ever even personally met her. But his emotions were so conflicting that they occupied his every thought. He was going through a transformation similar to Lisa's, but very dissimilar as well.

What had he allowed her to do to him?

He spent hours, days, weeks, thinking about it, until a solution came to him. A solution that might help her as well as him. He couldn't stand seeing her the way she was now, not another day longer. Part of him wanted to help her, and part of him just wanted to put her out of her misery and kill her. Obviously, her friends and parents wouldn't take any action, so he had to.

He decided not to kill her, though, but to use her, to help himself. To get back what she had taken from him.

At last, he thought he had found the perfect method. It would take some work on her part, and it would jar her out of that weakened state she had been in for three months. Maybe the old Lisa would return. Although he brushed the thought aside, a bit of it did excite him.

Lisa Reisert awoke around 1 p.m. that day. She immediately reached for her bottle of Xanax and swallowed a few pills. In the confusion of waking, she felt a fear that she felt every day, and immediately awoke and made sure her room was safe. The Xanax would help to calm her soon. She then checked every room of the house, before even brushing her teeth or showering. She carried around a baseball, left at the side of her bed, ever since that night.

In spite of her depression and ennui, she did continue to shower each morning, probably more due to her instinctual ritual than anything else. As she showered, and as she did everything else, she thought about Jackson. She was terrified that he would return of course, but in a way, she seemed certain that he would not. Although she wasn't fully aware of it, she was a bit disappointed, and that was part of the reason she was experiencing such depression. However, to ask her about this would only incur her wrath, her vehement denials. She knew she was still physically attracted to him; that had never changed. The funny thing was, she didn't regret a single one of her self-defensive actions: stabbing him in the throat, hitting him with her old hockey stick, or even shooting him. The one thing, above all else, was the fact that she wished she hadn't called him pathetic. He was anything but, and she knew it. It was a low blow, an insult that was meant to hurt him. But who could blame her, given the long night she had that day?


	2. Chapter 2: Jackson's Thoughts

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Thanks to those who have reviewed thus far!

Who is Jackson Rippner?

Chapter 2

Jackson sat at home that night, eating a ham sandwich, thinking about his plan to reconcile his feelings about Lisa Reisert, the one thorn in his existence. She had brought his life to a sudden halt. He hated showing any kind of weakness to anyone, and to be honest, he was a bit more threatening to her that he usually was to anyone while they were on the red eye flight. Probably because most people did what he wanted them to do.

That flight, that damned flight. He had failed of course, and wasn't given any more assignments, but at the time, he wasn't sure what the consequences might be for failing. As Lisa began her tricks to try to stop his mission, he had become increasingly frustrated and terrified. Yes, he had been scared about not pulling off the assassination; after all, it wasn't as if he worked with a bunch of social workers. He could only imagine what they might do to him if provoked.

As it was, his employers had given little faith to the plan at all; they knew how difficult it would be to assassinate a major American political figure post 9/11. That's the primary reason Jackson was alive. It was a risky mission, not very likely to succeed, and if he had been successful, he would have been seen as a star in the rising organization. But he hadn't, and here he was, sitting at home eating a ham sandwich – well, at his newly rented home only blocks from Lisa. He smirked, envisioning the look on her face if she knew how close he actually was.

But that red eye flight. Why had she gotten to him so? It's like she knew how to push his buttons, to exploit any weakness he might have, which he worked diligently at hiding. She pissed him off so much, that by the end of the whole "you had better make the call" nightmare, he was seething. He couldn't believe that getting her to make the call had taken so long. Such an easy thing to do: coerce a young girl to make a phone call, and he, Jackson Rippner, had almost failed to do so. He could count himself victorious that she made the call, but who would have guessed she hadn't given up?

At the end of the flight, just before she stabbed him in the throat; he protectively put his hand over the scar, feeling what she had done to him, and knowing that he would always carry her brand upon him, he had felt sympathy for her.

Actually, he had felt sympathetic for her twice: once, when he saw her scar in the bathroom and immediately knew she had been sexually assaulted. It had explained everything about her. The second time had been just before she stabbed him, and mentioned the attack (leaving out the rape, of course).

He remembered her exact words: "It made me realize something."

He couldn't see her face; she was staring out the window, but he could sense the desolate tone and utter helplessness she must have been feeling. How wrong had he been.

He had hesitated before replying, "That certain things are beyond your control." He thought he had showed concern, and then, the pen in the throat! It had pretty much erased his concern, right then and there.

He sighed now, chewing a bite of his favorite type of sandwich, reaching down for the remote, and still thinking about his plan. He wasn't purely evil, or at least, he hadn't started out that way. He propped his feet up on his coffee table and settled back on the couch as he flipped through the stations, comfortably dressed in just his boxers and an old "University of Virginia" t-shirt.

The other time he had felt remorse was when Lisa had given him that look; the look that "yes, you are a monster." He couldn't stand it. She hadn't been able to believe that anyone could mastermind an assassination of an entire family. He had swallowed hard on that one and managed to get out, "It's not my fault if someone wants to send a bold, brash message," or something like that. He couldn't even remember now. He just knew that it had never felt right to him.

But Keefe – as much as Lisa thought he was a decent guy – wasn't. He chuckled at how very naive Americans about their leaders. Keefe was as corrupt as they come, and he had been dealing with some pretty unforgiving guys, which was why he had been targeted by the assassins. They would still get him; they just wouldn't hire Jackson to do so. Of course, he thought, smiling, Lisa wouldn't have approved of the assassination anyway, no matter how corrupt the guy was. That was modern society for you. But Jackson knew better in his experience.

He settled on a documentary on the History Channel about World War I, and watching the combat action reminded him of his past and how he wanted Lisa to know certain things about him. He wasn't a monster, or at least, he hadn't started out that way.

He watched the show, the soldiers living in the trenches, the barbed wire, the re-enacted combat action meant for the silent newsreels of the day. He knew all about the history of this war, the Great War; he had studied it extensively, as well as all of human history. He knew that the film recordings made of the action were forced, planned, and free of blood. Just like every government since then and since the evolution of the modern screen, right down to the television set.

Jackson had started out his life this way, wanting to study things, to learn about things. He never had stopped wanting to do this. That's why Lisa intrigued him so much. How could someone with so much resolve, so much hope (which he thought, again, was innocent enough to be considered somewhat stupid) have retreated into her current state? Didn't she even contemplate her existence, her life? She seemed so complacent, in spite of her mini-revolts.

He knew enough about her to know that she had been a cheerleader/athlete type, the type he had hated in school. The eternally chirpy, always "up" kind of person. After studying her recently, he realized that there was more to her that met the eye. She was not that person she had been in the past. She was more complex than he gave her credit for.

He knew that she had gone to college in a small Florida state school and majored in business, and then gone on to work at the hotel. She seemed completely content with her life, and that baffled him. How could she think that was living? How could she consider her life "happy?" It was what made him think she was a sap, another sheep, another insipid lover of Dr. Phil, Oprah, and those ridiculous self-help books. But he had been wrong, he now realized, and if he hadn't underestimated her, his mission might have been successful.

Have been, should have been, he sighed, getting up and turning off the t.v. He had watched her earlier tonight and she was working her way listlessly through a Law and Order marathon. She had no idea what law enforcement was really liked.

He did a quick check on her now, before heading to his bedroom. He popped into his study and saw her on one of his multiple screens, in the living room, lying on the couch and watching the same show, the same dead expression on her face, characteristic of depression. He knew the look well.

He left the cameras on, but closed the door to the room, attended to his toilet, and got into bed. His air conditioner was on high blast; he hadn't gotten used to the heat in Florida, but he had always preferred to sleep with some noise. He also had his air filter running on high speed. Between the two, though, he could still hear anyone in his house, or anyone close to him. He was a light sleeper, and he slept with his gun right next to him, in his nightstand drawer.

He turned out the light, listening to the hum of his machinery, and continued to think about her. He wanted to alternately learn more about her and strangle her! She was so annoying, so sure of herself (or had been). She was so pretty, though, and her eyes were so warm; they reminded him of a girl he had known in the past.

Lisa hadn't even given him his cell phone back! He took his hands and rubbed his forehead, which had begun to hurt lately. He prayed the migraines weren't coming back. Whenever he was dealing with a philosophical nightmare, the headaches came back. The pain was astounding, everything that people had described migraines to be. The most severe ones left him lying in bed, unable to move, unable to have any light on at all.

But it wasn't to that point yet. He feel into a restless sleep, his dreams filled of Lisa. But when he awoke the next morning, he couldn't remember if his dreams had been of lust, concern, or hatred. But that was who he was.

Lisa Reisert heard the mailman deliver the mail to the door the next day; it was about 4:00 by the time he delivered, and Lisa managed to stagger to the door, uneager to see what unsolicited credit card applications she would receive today.

She grabbed the mail out of the box and sifted through the offers and junk mail, until she noticed a pale green piece, postcard size. It was blank.

She turned the card over, her brow furrowed. The only writing on the back was: "Garfield" and underneath it, "Fairfax."

What was this? She felt a sense of panic and scanned the neighborhood to see if anyone was watching her. There wasn't anyone in sight, except her across the street neighbor, Mr. Benjamin, who mowed his lawn about 50 times a week. He was deep into the activity now, but beyond that, the street was silent, all the children at after-school activities, or home alone, playing endless video games.

However, Jackson had seen her get the mail, look at the card, and turn it over, reading what he had written. He smiled slowly when he saw her look of panic, then confusion, and her quick retreat into the house.

Lisa dumped the rest of the mail onto the kitchen table, but kept the green postcard. She went to her computer and booted it up, probably for the first time in a month. Ignoring how many messages were in her inbox, she did a quick search on Fairfax, wondering if it was a county, town, city, gathering place, etc….

She immediately found four "Farirfax(s)." There was one in Northern Virginia, right near the DC area (which she had known about), another in Marin County in California, one in South Carolina, and the last, in Vermont. She was sure there were more: there had to be tons in England as well. But she figured it would probably be somewhere in America, as she knew "Garfield" probably related to the president who was assassinated rather than the popular cat. She quickly saw tha the had been assassinated in 1881.

She frowned, unable to see the connection. The references to Fairfax appeared most frequently to the Virginia city, but Garfield? What did that mean in conjunction with Fairfax?"

Why would someone want to send her a postcard with these two words? A person and a place. What did it mean? Why Fairfax? Was this just a joke? Something somebody had meant for someone else? But why was it put in her box? There wasn't even a stamp on it or an address label.

Lisa went back to the Garfield page, interested to learn more. History had never been her forte, and she had only remembered Garfield from a Jeopardy question about his assassination.

She found out that Charles Guiteau, his assassin, had actually been a disgruntled lawyer who had applied to become the US ambassador to France. He had been rejected, and then claimed that God had ordered him to kill the president.

On July 2, 1881, Garfield had arrived at the Washington depot station to depart for Eberon, New Jersey, where his wife was convalescing.

He never made it; Guiteau, in hiding, had stepped out, and shot the president twice. One bullet grazed Garfield's arm, and the other lodged itself somewhere in his body. Assassinations made her think of Jackson, but she pushed the thought aside, interested in her search.

Garfield had been rushed to the White House, never even losing consciousness. For the next 80 days, he was attended to by 16 doctors, the first, a Dr. Willard Bliss, stuck his unsanitary finger into the bullet hole to probe around for a while, finding nothing.

Other doctors followed suit. The result was that a 3 inch wound turned into a 20 inch canal that became hopelessly infected. Garfield's heart was weakened and he suffered massive heart attacks, finally dying on September 19th, 1881. He had lingered on and suffered for 80 full days after being shot. The site she was reading contended that he probably would have survived if the doctors had left him alone. The bullet, according to the autopsy, hadn't damaged any major organs, and alone, probably wouldn't have killed him. She even read that Alexander Graham Bell and another man, by the name of Newcomb, had tried to use a rudimentary metal detector on the president to find the bullet!

She was intrigued and read on. According to old newspapers, they had tested the metal detector until it worked nearly to perfection, only to travel to D.C. and try it on the president, and fail. They couldn't figure it out. The culprit was the brand-new type of mattress Garfield was lying on – coil spring. The metal detector had been picking up signals from the coils rather than one bullet. But at the time, that had been unknown.

Lisa got up, a bit restless, but definitely intrigued. She went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of Gatorade. Why had someone put this card in her mailbox? What were they trying to tell her?

Suddenly, and sickened, she knew it had been Jackson. She dropped her cup of Gatorade (luckily, it was plastic, or it would have shattered to bits) and spilled the fluid all over herself and the floor.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, fussing over the cleaning of the floor, and changing out of her sweatshirt into a new one. The accident had given her time to dismiss her thoughts of Jackson and the trauma, but once she cleaned up, she started to feel those feelings again, that mixture of revulsion yet interest. She whipped her head around, making sure no one was watching her. She checked the drawer where she kept her gun, loaded. It was still there. She breathed a sign of relief and thought, what does this all mean? She innately sensed that the red eye flight had only been the beginning, and she was right.

From his home, looking at Lisa's face, and her returning paranoia, Jackson smiled. He placed his finger along the outline of her face and continued to watch with eagerness….

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3: First Discovery

Who is Jackson Rippner?

Chapter 3: Back to the old Lisa

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Jackson went to bed that night feeling a sense of satisfaction. He had seen a bit of the old Lisa, he knew, as he had sent her on his quest, not hers. He had watched her in the kitchen, after her Internet search. The minute she had dropped her cup, combined with the look on her face, he knew that she knew. She had realized that he was the one who had put the card in her mailbox, and that he was close. He was very pleased that it hadn't taken her too long to realize: for one thing, he saw the spark of the old Lisa, and for a second thing, he scared her. He liked to frighten her; in a way, it was erotic, as if he had control over the situation and she didn't. He made the rules, not her, and that was the way he wanted to keep it. He wasn't evil; he just wanted to make sure he was the master of this chess game. He had always known he wasn't evil, and she would soon find that out, too. He was practical, and he had far more life experience than she did, despite the fact that they were very close in age.

And then, as she had checked to see if her gun was still in its place he could barely suppress a laugh; she so underestimated him. He had known about the gun the first day he had been released from the hospital.

He also sensed, deep down, that she felt it was erotic as well, this game of theirs. He suspected that her depression was partially due to her return to "ordinary" life. They were two of kind, thriving on danger and excitement. Until the red eye flight and meeting him, she just hadn't known it about herself. She might not consciously admit to it, but he knew she was as attracted to him as much as he was to her. It was undeniable.

Jackson still felt angry at her, though – not exactly for thwarting his plans; after all, it was just a job and now in the past, but for making him doubt his belief system. He had developed a carefully thought out philosophy of the world, and she had ruined it. He didn't exactly know who he was anymore.

He lay in bed later that night, thinking about it. He usually slept on his back, but tonight he restlessly turned from side to side, thinking about his past, and all of his training, his youth, his parents, his friends, everything. He had only been joking about killing his parents; of course hadn't done so, as he had loved them. He had experienced the same emotions as anyone else in those days. However, he had hardened later in life, and he wanted Lisa to learn about it and learn that he wasn't as simplistic as she thought.

That was the thing that pissed him off most of all; she thought she knew him, but she didn't. He flipped on his beside light and began to pace. He didn't sleep in a shirt, boxers only, and the air conditioner was making him a bit cold, but he ignored it and continued to pace. He stopped and looked out his window. How could she think that she knew him? It was presumptuous on her part. Who did she think she was? She hadn't experienced the things he had, as much as he hadn't had her experience of being raped. He didn't presume to know what that had been like, so how could she presume to know anything about his past, and what had made him into what he was today?

He missed his old life at times like this, his life from the 1990s, which had been such an innocent time for him. College, then graduate school for a bit, then Quantico. Why had he chosen that path?

He climbed back into bed, turned the light off, and stared at the ceiling. Lisa would soon find out about all of it; his past, his pain, and who he truly was. She would like the person he had been; of this he was sure, and deep down, he wanted her to like him. To realize that he wasn't the monster she thought he was, but that he was a human being with emotions, and she had pushed all of his buttons. He had learned how to be violent when necessary, and she had provoked that side of him, the part of him that was angry. He felt the anger flare up now; he felt mad enough to push her against a wall and ….. he tried to keep those thoughts out of his mind and fought the desire to go to his "Lisa Room", as he liked to call it: the surveillance room and see her once again. He fought the desires rising in him, to take her, to make her a part of him. He had been thinking about her in that way ever since the shooting. He wanted her, and he knew she wanted him, but would probably never willingly admit it. She stirred something in him that he hadn't felt in such a long time.

At the same time Jackson was resisting the urge to spy on Lisa, she was sitting at her computer, still mulling over the puzzle of the card she had received earlier that day.

Garfield and Fairfax, what could it mean? A place and a person. A president and a city. She had checked into Garfield's life; he wasn't from Fairfax, he wasn't associated with it in any way, shape or form. She had done multiple searches on the web, and now she was just running down some of the Google entries that appeared on the screen.

Her eyes hurt, and she removed her hand from the mouse and rubbed them. They were so sore from looking at the screen for the past few hours, but she couldn't bring herself to turn away, to give up. She knew Jackson was involved with this; was it some kind of veiled threat? Was he going to "assassinate" her in Fairfax, in some way, as Garfield had been assassinated? What did he want from her this time? Was he going to try to pull off some job or stunt that would take place in Fairfax, and he needed her "help" again? Was he going to coerce her and threaten her, come into her home and hurt her? Or did Fairfax mean something else entirely? Her head hurt, and she couldn't think anymore.

Yet, sighing, she went back to the screen. If anything, Lisa was a determined individual who never gave up easily. She suddenly had the revelation that this was the first thing that had interested her in months. She sort of liked playing "detective." Maybe she should have become one.

She scrolled down, and at the very bottom of the umpteenth screen she had viewed, she saw something. It must have appeared before, earlier, and she had missed it. There it was: "Garfield Elementary School, Fairfax, Virginia." It was a school! She clicked on the entry eagerly. It brought up a school district homepage, but with nothing of too much interest to her. She saw the sports teams, their pictures, some of the teachers and administrators, and the curriculum. Ho-hum, nothing interesting.

_But what if…_.? Could he be planning some sort of "job" at the school? Could the card have been from someone else, warning her?

Oh, how her head hurt with all of these thoughts, these unanswered and seemingly unsolvable and inexplicable questions.

It came to her in a flash: could Jackson have possibly attended the school? Could he have been from Virginia? Had he spent his early childhood there, attending that school? Elementary schools didn't have yearbooks, though, or lists of students from years ago. She didn't even know how old Jackson was, although she had a guess. She herself was 32, and he couldn't have been much older or younger by a few years. She figured he was between 29 and possibly 35, although she didn't think he was quite that age. That would mean he had been born between 1972 and 1977, a span of five years.

If Jackson would have been watching what happened next, he would have been extremely pleased and excited. Lisa took notes on the district, its address, and the phone numbers of contact people. It was late at night, too late to call.

_Hmmm…_ she stood up, went over to the t.v., and turned it on. She flipped on the History Channel, as she always did when she first turned on the television, and absently sat for a few minutes, watching yet another biography of Hitler. She wished they would stop focusing on Hitler and the Nazis so much. They might as well call it the "Hitler Channel" these days. She then flipped to the International History Channel, which was showing a program on the Boer War. She tried to watch, but couldn't concentrate, finally shutting the television off. History had always been a small hobby of hers.

She hurried back to the computer, forgetting all about the Boer War, knowing that she couldn't wait. She had to take some action. She could call some of these people tomorrow, but in the mean time….

Jackson awoke the next day, completely unrefreshed, and way too early for him. He was a late-nighter and a late riser. He checked in on Lisa, smiling when he saw her head on her desk, in front of the computer, fast asleep. He hadn't underestimated her. She must have had a busy night.

He quickly showered and grabbed a bowl of cereal, which he carried into his "Lisa Room," and began to eat as he watched with amusement, and yearning. She slept for some time before awakening. He didn't mind; he enjoyed watching her. She was so soft, so delicate. She had this cute expression on her face as she slept, but at times, her eyes would twitch violently, and she frowned, as if having a nightmare. He watched, worried, until the look passed. He longed to be sleeping next to her, in a big bed, ready to comfort her when her fears took hold of her.

He saw her sudden but slow movement as she awakened some time later. He chuckled when he saw the big red mark on her face from sleeping on the desk. It was rather adorable. She wearily rubbed her eyes as she woke up, clad in yesterday's clothing, he noted.

She then stumbled into the kitchen and started to make a cup of coffee. He frowned. He hated coffee; the taste, the smell, everything about it, especially the caffeine. He had always hated caffeine and coffee, cigarettes and alcohol.

Then, as if remembering something, she abandoned her coffee making process and looked at her watch. She hurried over to the notebook she kept by the computer and grabbed her cordless phone.

_This was interesting_, he thought. He had finished his shredded mini-wheats and leaned in closer to the screen. He turned up the volume.

"Hi, yes, my name is Lisa Reisert. I'm phoning because I have a somewhat complex situation that I hope you can help me with. It's a long story, but basically, I need to get a copy of my brother's school records." She was obviously adept at switching on her "customer" voice.

_She had figured out the first part!_ He hadn't thought she would do it this quickly. A slow smile spread over his face as he admired her cleverness. He crossed his arms and leaned back, ready to hear more.

Lisa had obviously been put on hold, as she went silent for a moment or two.

"Yes, I'm interested in getting a copy of my brother's school records. He attended Garfield Elementary in the late seventies and early 80s. Would it be possible to get a copy?"

She listened for a moment. "I'd have to visit the high school? That's where they keep the records?"

She paused for a moment, "No, I don't mind at all. You see, he's a soldier, and he's in Iraq. Our parents…" she paused for effect and her voice quivered, "they recently passed away, and well, to be honest, they weren't the greatest record keepers. I haven't seen my brother in years, and I'm tracking down everything I can about him. I really don't know him that well at all, and I'd really like to see him again. In fact, we are planning a reconciliation of sorts, and I thought I might even make a scrapbook for him."

_Good cover story, Leese_, he smirked, putting his feet on his desk and relaxing. This would be a fun day.

Again, silence as she listened. "Yes, I understand. In person, you say? That's not a problem at all. Yes, I understand they wouldn't be computerized, of course, not from back then." She forced a fake laugh.

_Jeez, he wasn't that old. She made him sound as if he was from the stone age. He had only graduated in 1990._

"So, I basically, I could stop by the high school guidance office at any time during the school day?"

She must have received an affirmative reply, as she responded, "Great, I'll be there at some point tomorrow afternoon, and yes, I'll give the high school a call to let them know."

She went back to the computer, looked something up, and wrote it down. Lisa then made another phone call, to his high school, and obviously made the arrangements for someone to pull up his file.

He immediately sat up in his chair. What was this? She was in Miami? How would make arrangements to get to his old high school in Fairfax by tomorrow?

Jackson watched as she hung up the phone and literally ran upstairs. He saw her undress and jump into the shower – and as tempted as he was to watch that – he had a more pressing duty. Something had happened last night. What had she done?

He set his digital recorder back, past the hours she had been sleeping, to the few minutes before she had finally collapsed. Fifteen minutes before that should be enough.

_Okay, there she was, looking at the screen and typing furiously_. She must be a fast typist, he thought. He zoomed in on the screen and saw that she was making plane reservations to Fairfax. Her flight, he could see as he zoomed in even more, was out of Miami at 4 p.m. today. Damn! That didn't give him too much time. He smiled, though. She was accomplishing far more than he had expected in such a short amount of time. He wouldn't have a problem getting a flight there as well, maybe even on the same plane. After all, they had had such a memorable experience last time.

"Just hurry, will you?" Jackson snapped.

"Look, I'm going as fast as I can," his female associate responded.

Jackson had called her immediately after booking his flight.

"It's already 10 o'clock, I don't have much time. My flight is at 4 and I have several things to take care of," he said warningly.

She only flinched a bit, but he caught it. "And will you put that shit out," he added, annoyed. "I can barely breathe."

"Oh, I forgot," she smirked. "The Great Jackson Rippner who doesn't smoke, doesn't drink," she muttered, puffing on her cigarette and blowing it in his face as she worked on his hair. She was a thrill seeker, but she knew when to stop with Jackson.

He looked at her reflection in the mirror. "You don't want to piss me off. Not today."

She tried to feign bravery but put the cigarette out in his bathroom sink. She knew how dangerous he could be when provoked.

"Thank you," he replied courteously and smiled his most winning grin. "Now, remember to make it reddish blond – it's probably as light as it should be, given my natural color."

"I thought dark brown, as you have right now, was your natural color."

"Well, it's usually much lighter," he said, and added, "not that you need to know that. In a sense, I just want to return to that color."

She gulped and said, "Okay, okay, I'll do my best."

"Did you bring the contacts?"

"Yes, but you know, Jackson, it's hard to do all of this with only a couple of hours notice."

"You owe me," he said lowly.

"I know, I know, that's why I'm here." She pulled her black hair back and twisted it into a knot.

"By the way, what happened to your voice? It's a bit raspy."

"None of your business," he told her matter-of factly. "All you need to worry about is covering the scar on my throat."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes. God, she was too young. He couldn't stand her.

"Now, we just wait about 30 minutes, and you will no longer be a brunette. It will be a lot lighter, I promise."

She leaned over him and began to work on his face. "Plastic surgery would have been easier, Jackson."

"I didn't have the time for that," he growled, beginning to get really annoyed with her, as she worked her magic. But he controlled his temper, as she was the best at this sort of thing.

After about fifteen minutes, she finished.

"Okay, there you go, darker skin tone, lower cheek bones, lighter eyebrows, scar covered… anything else?"

"Are the contacts my prescription?"

"Of course. Put them in while I finish your hair."

After he put them in and she pulled the foils from his hair, she began to cut it. He had kept it rather longish, as he had it when he had last seen Lisa, sort of in a careless way.

Fifteen minutes later, the transformation was complete.

Jackson Rippner stood and looked at himself. He now had lighter reddish hair with blond streaks, which he was more used to anyway as his natural color, brown eyes, lower cheekbones, and much shorter, layered hair. He did look different, but not enough. She would recognize him in a second if he got too close.

But one thing worked in his favor. As he had watched her at the airport those many months ago, she had been searching for the status of her flight on the message board. He had distinctly seen her squint a bit. After checking up on that much later, he discovered that she was near-sighted and had glasses, but rarely wore them and didn't have any contacts. He realized that during the eight weeks he had watched her, and had noticed it, but hadn't given it too much thought before now. He would have to count on that fact, as well as staying as far away as possible, but within scope to view her. _Maybe a little vanity keeps you from wearing your glasses, huh Leese?_ He would be sure to inquire about that the next time they met.

"You can go now," he told the female associate.

"You're welcome," she snapped.

All he did was give her one look, and she muttered something and left. He knew he still had the power to do that to people. He always had; some had told him it was his clear, commanding eyes. The eyes he no longer had, he noticed, as he glanced in the mirror.

Quickly, he packed, and made sure to make one final alteration. He grabbed one of his "Old Navy" t-shirts, a pair of rumpled looking jeans, and sneakers and changed. He also grabbed a baseball cap and put it in his carry-on, just in case, as well as a pair of glasses (non-prescription, of course, as he already had his contacts), sunglasses, and his regular glasses.

Next, he put in an earring (a youthful indiscretion, he thought, surprised the he could still get the earring in) and grabbed an iPod he had just purchased. He stuck the headphones in, clipped the iPod on his belt, and took a look at himself in his full length mirror on the back of his bathroom door.

He looked several years younger. Even he, a master of disguise, thought that this was a pretty good transformation, given the time element. It wasn't too radical, but it was a style that would be so unexpected by Lisa, and so sure to have the effect of "blending in with the crowd," that he didn't see a problem with hiding. Besides, he was very good at keeping low key.

He looked in the mirror again, scrutinizing his appearance, thinking he needed one more thing. He ruffled through his drawers and found a few black bands that he used for bracelets.

_Jeez,_ he thought, _I look like some skater punk. And my eyes, they're so dark – and my hair, so light. Like it used to be; this is what I really looked like about 15 years ago, except for my eyes and permanent throat scar. _Not now, he told himself. No thinking about the past.

Unbeknownst to him, Lisa had guessed his age fairly correctly. He had been born in 1972, and was presently 34. But now, he looked about 22, if one didn't look too closely. He wondered if he should bring a skateboard as well, and chuckled as he allowed himself to think of what lie ahead.

After having made other necessary arrangements, Jackson would arrive at the airport in plenty of time, well enough to spot Lisa when she arrived. He would make sure to have his cap pulled low enough over his face without being too suspicious.

She had reserved an aisle seat, he had learned. How typical. He knew she would have never worried about this sort of thing before (besides her general fear of planes), and he was pleased that he was the one to have made her nervous enough on a plane to make sure she had the aisle seat. He was surprised she was even getting on a plane again; her desire to follow this lead on him must have won out against her anxiety. She had probably taken enough Xanax to knock her out, though – or the opposite – she would have pumped herself up with caffeine. He had learned that much about her. It was how she coped. He couldn't quite decide between the two, though. It was rather intoxicating to know that he had that effect on her.

He had made certain inquiries and found out she was seated closer to the front row (another fact he was sure he was responsible for), and he was far enough in the back to keep an eye on her. That way, he would board the plane first, blending in with the crowd of people waiting to get on, and he would get off last, but with enough time to get to the baggage claim and catch her, his prey, without her knowing. He made sure that she had indeed checked a bag, so she so she didn't escape him. He himself had only brought a carry-on, to simplify matters. He had connections in Fairfax to get the necessary supplies when he arrived. After all, it was his home.

The hotel she had booked was one among dozens in a busy strip that he knew well, so he had made sure to reserve a room in the hotel literally next door. He had found out which room she had been given, and he had made sure he had a room that was directly across from hers and accessible with binoculars – state of the art, of course. It was far enough that she wouldn't be able to see him if she even put on a pair of glasses. But she wouldn't, he knew.

He grabbed the rest of his things, his gadgets that he would need, and jumped into his Black Nissan. Nondescript and numerous enough to once again, "blend in." As he drove to the airport, he tried to relax a bit. He had accomplished the impossible in almost six hours.

A Michael Jackson tune was on the radio, reminding him of his elementary school days at Garfield. Some of the kids had performed a dance to it in some dorky talent show, the kind that elementary schools specialized in. He smiled., then frowned, as he thought about his high school. He hadn't wanted her to find out this much this quickly.

Yes, it would be quite the adventure. If Lisa was as clever as he suspected, he was going to give her the run of a lifetime, a trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow. And he was going to be there when she realized just how wrong she had been about him.

_Note: Although it appears strange that Lisa would be able to access Jackson's school records this easily and quickly, it isn't at all that difficult. I did it a few years ago, and all I had to do was show up at my schools and ask for them. Given some notice, they gave them to me and let me photocopy whatever I wanted. I didn't even have to provide any identification at all. It is very interesting to see your own school records, and what your parents had to fill out for you to even begin attending school at age four or five. As I will reveal in future chapters, there is a LOT to be learned from someone's school records._

Thanks to the reviews that have started to come in; you don't know how much I appreciate and look forward to reading them!!! I hope to have more people discover my story as I add more. I haven't had much luck looking for my own story in the search engine. If anyone has any tips, let me know. 


	4. Chapter 4: The Airport

_**Who is Jackson Rippner?**_

Note: This chapter is a bit shorter, as I wanted to leave you hanging at the end… remember, I do not own any of these enchanting characters!

Chapter IV: The Airport, Again

Jackson stared at her, his Lisa, the first time he had been this close to her since the incident. He watched her, awed to see her in person again. He even noticed the two moles on her throat and the one on the right side corner of her mouth, and even the one under her lips.

Shame washed over him; the last time he had looked her in the eye; he had failed, she had beaten him, and her look of pity and confusion had disgusted him.

After he lay on the floor, shot twice, stabbed twice, and bleeding from the head as well, he had looked into her eyes. There was understanding, he thought, as he looked at her; respect, maybe. Maybe not – maybe it was just the pity he initially thought, but he hoped he was wrong. He couldn't keep her gaze; he had to look away. He had failed, he was a failure. He didn't want her to ever see him in that position again, which is why he wanted her to discover how strong he had been in the past, how successful. How certain he had been about everything, on top, and in charge.

But he wouldn't let her find out about his fall, about his realization, and what had made him turn to the other side. _Jeez, he thought, I am really thinking in such a corny manner – my turn to the other side? The Dark Side, as in the Force? What was this?_

He needed to stop thinking of that.

How Jackson loved her nickname, he now thought, pretending to read a Time magazine as he saw her pacing around their gate. He had arrived before her and had positioned himself strategically, so he could see her, but not she him. Jackson knew how terrified she was right now, and it thrilled him, not just a little, to see her like this. To see her so vulnerable. But she needn't fear him, he wouldn't hurt her. She had become too fascinating to him; he thought about her all the time, and if he had been the type to believe in love, he might have thought he was. He didn't much indulge in these types of teenage feelings, but it was just something about her, about her way, about her.

He sat up straighter, cleared his throat and reestablished control of himself. He was glad that his nameless associate had been able to conceal his throat scar; he wasn't self-conscious about it, but he didn't want to be recognized by Lisa.

His voice was a bit raspier these days; he expected that he would never have the same voice he had once had, but it had improved a great deal since the attack, and he lived with it.

Lisa was pacing around, stopping in the many shops that surrounded her gate. She was almost ready to run home, to her safe place, she was so terrified. Planes had never been easy for her to endure, but now… after that flight... She wanted to go home; what had she been thinking, booking this ticket on a whim and flying all the way to Virginia based on a notecard in her mailbox that she wasn't even sure had meant anything.

Was she crazy? Had she lost her mind? She didn't want to get on any airplane. She began to walk away, quickly, changing her mind and scanning the crowd for anyone suspicious.

Jackson, on the other hand, was wondering what she was up to. He could tell that she was completely freaked out and watched as she headed away from the gate. He fought the urge to run to her and grab her. But he was rational, and decided to wait. If she managed to get far enough to escape his view, he would then take action.

Lisa stopped in her tracks. No, she told herself, I must see this through. I will be careful and I will see this thing through. It's the only way to end this thing once and for all. _I have to be strong, but I sure could use a little help._ She put her hand to her purse, protectively, and then to the cell phone, hidden beneath her shirt. She had made sure to wear baggy clothes this time, to conceal her extra phone, and extra pens in her pocket (although she knew she probably couldn't use it as a successful weapon again, against Jackson. If he were around, he would be smarter than last time, and he wouldn't take his eyes off her).

She was right. Jackson was watching her, and his eyes narrowed as he saw her put her hand over her purse, and then her hip. He had noticed her clothes of choice; baggy jeans, like himself (he guessed they had both learned something), an oversized sweater, and sneakers. She was ready to run if she had to, and he didn't doubt for a second that she had weapons on her!

She visibly relaxed, seemingly reassuring herself with her foolish precautions. Didn't she know that he could foresee her every move? Well, almost every move, he thought, running his hand over his throat. He sighed as he saw her reach into her purse and pull out a prescription bottle, walk to a water fountain, and swallow several pills. He knew it was Xanax; he knew that she had filled the prescription and kept it on her person at all times. Not only could she not leave the house without weapons, but without her crutch.

He thought she would be stronger. He felt disappointed in her. A young guy sat next to him, and he realized this would be to his advantage. He made small talk with the kid who was dressed in almost an identical manner as he was.

Lisa swallowed her pills. At least if anything happened in this flight, nothing would be able to revive her, not even Jackson. She would be out like a light soon.

But first – first she must survey everyone at the gate. She looked around, seeing the typical travelers; some families, people alone, two young guys sitting next to each other and talking animatedly; some older people, and a pregnant woman. Other various kids and people - so far, nothing out of the ordinary.

Jackson, adept at doing many things at once (he hated the word mult-taking and refused to use it at all costs), saw her regard the crowd closely, and she had passed over him and the young man without any worry on her face. He continued to talk to the kid, pretending to be interested in the video games and popular television shows of the day, putting on a show that would fool anyone.

He also had put his fake, black-rimmed glasses on. He could barely stand talking to this insipid creature any longer, but he kept it up for Lisa's benefit. Soon she would know all that he was doing for her_. I should have been an actor,_ he thought.

Twenty minutes later, they were all on the plane, seated and ready to go. It was a full flight, something Jackson had made sure of. They would arrive in D.C. in a couple of hours, he would grab his rental – no need to follow her beyond the baggage area - head to his hotel, set up his equipment, and then check on her. It was going to be a great night. Then, the next day, her visit to his school, would be quite interesting. He himself had his own copy of his records; he had copies of everything he had ever done in his life, and he had brought them along, but he usually kept them someplace much safer.

She was closer to the front of the plane, but within his view. She was so nervous, seated in the aisle, looking around with worry. He could see her, and it delighted him. He was in a window seat, of course, on the opposite side of the three seaters, and he had a perfect view of her.

The plane began to ready itself for take-off. Before it even left the ground, she was out like a light.

Xanax, he knew, could do that to you. Anyone in his position knew all about every substance used; he knew he could never resort to anything like that, as he had to be alert at all times. He saw it as a sign of her weakness, her inability to cope, and it made him doubt sending her on this quest. Why should he bother with her? She was a silly little girl in a woman's body (one that he found himself quite interested in) who had gotten lucky last time. She wasn't a threat. But yet he felt a bit of worry. Why had she given in so quickly? Why had she resorted to the Xanax to feel better? Why did she have all these crutches?

In her hotel room, Lisa relaxed even more. She still felt sleepy, but calm, thanks to the Xanax. The flight had gone smoothly, and she had no reason to worry. If Jackson were watching her… but she doubted he was. Maybe he had put the card in there, maybe one of his associates did. She was still confused about the whole thing, but felt a compulsion? Obsession - to learn more about him. Even if he was watching her, he wasn't an imminent threat; of that she was unsure. Her instinct told her she was safe for now, despite the fact that she might have reasons to question that instinct right now.

Jackson watched her movements through his high-powered, maximum resolution binoculars. She was off her guard, which was good. He watched her disappear into the bathroom. He then switched to his laptop computer and began to watch her, through the tiny cameras his associates had set up for him. With money and connections, you could get almost anything done with only a few hours notice.

She turned the water on, giving it a few minutes to warm up, and began to undress. He had seen her body many times before, but he never got tired of watching it. He always felt the same lust rising in him, the same futile ability to control it, to tame it. She couldn't know the effect she had on him – unless he had the same effect on her. He had seen it in her eyes the first time they met, but obviously she wouldn't feel the same way now. Yet even as he had lay on her living room floor, bleeding, she watching him with pitiful eyes, he knew an electricity existed.

His anger, fueled with her anger, had been almost combustible. Under different circumstances, at different times, the fight could have erupted into something more… something much more, that he knew they both wanted.

After all, he had invited her to join him in the airport restaurant, that first time they met in the line, on an impulse. He didn't need to do any research, but it was a chance to get to know her up close, face to face. To see what she was like, what fueled the person he had been watching for so long. And his last chance to act as if they were both normal, everyday people, in an innocent surrounding.

She now looked in the mirror… looking at her scar, as she always did. _Oh Leese_, he thought with sorrow_, if I could take that away, I would_. No matter what he was, he wasn't a rapist. He wouldn't have killed her, he knew he wouldn't have. He didn't think he had it in him to physically stab her. He knew he was capable of doing it to others, but she was different. The knife had really been for_ his_ protection, not hers.

He sighed, supposing that he had invaded enough of her privacy for now. Privacy! She had none of it and never would as long as he was around. Not until he had her, completely, and she wanted him, completely.

The next day, he watched from his window as Lisa left, obviously, to the high school he had attended. Fairfax High School. Ugh… he thought. Part of the reason he didn't follow her was he had no desire to see that place again. He had left Fairfax and never returned. Only now, for her, would he do so.

Lisa went through the preliminaries as she found the high school and guidance office, and asked for Rippner's folder. She got it without comment, by an older woman who obviously was counting the days to her retirement. When Lisa inquired about a photocopier, the woman pointed to a back room and returned her glance to her computer screen. _She must love her job_, Lisa thought.

About twenty minutes later, she returned the folder to the guidance office, having only stolen a few originals that she had wanted to keep. She walked through the halls, reminded of her own school – were they all like this? Did they all have the same smell, the same feel, the same deserted quality when classes were in session?

She hadn't bothered to even look at the papers as she photocopied the material inside the folder. Now, she picked up her pace as she hurried back to her hotel, eager to see what was inside.

Jackson noticed her return, as he noticed everything. After he had a quick lunch, he turned on his computer to watch her as she read, and he opened his folder, of his own copies, to follow along. What would she think of the material inside?

To be continued…..

Thanks for all of your reviews! I do reply to you separately, rather than in here. I'm so glad you take the time to give me your opinion and feedback!


	5. Chapter 5: The School File

Who is Jackson Rippner?

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters!

Chapter 5: School Files

Lisa Reisert closed the file folder she was reading as she sat on her bed, stunned. Nothing, absolutely nothing unusual in Jackson Rippner's file. Nothing, except for very spotty attendance. He was normal in every regard, except that he was highly intelligent.

She thumbed through the papers again. His attendance problems started in 6th grade, yet he was able to maintain averages in the high 90s, or even 100 in some classes. His notes, brought in after he had missed a day, were written by his mother. For the most part he suffered from environmental allergies, daily headaches, and migraines. Lisa wasn't sure if she was reading the truth or fiction, or if he had just forged the notes.

He was highly intelligent, she noted again, looking through his course percentages as well as his achievement test scores. He teachers praised him. They didn't attach IQs to students in the 70s, nor had they really given any sort of psychological tests.

All of his teachers noted that he was an excellent student, quiet, and non-disruptive. He had two letters written by history teachers in high school, recommending Jackson very highly for any college he wished to attend. She saw that his plans had been to attend the University of Virginia or James Madison University. He wanted to major in law enforcement.

Wait – she had missed that one before, looking over a "career" test he had taken in 11th grade. Law enforcement! Could that be correct? Yes, there it was, in black and white. First choice of career: Law Enforcement, Second Choice: Teaching.

A TEACHER? Jackson Rippner had wanted to be a teacher or a cop? She didn't understand and furrowed her brow, putting the papers on the bed and thinking. She blankly picked up the room service menu and put in an order, figuring she should eat something. She was actually hungry and ordered a club sandwich, chocolate mousse, and two Sprites.

She was still primarily thinking of Jackson. Why would he or anyone else want her to read these rather bland records? She went back to the beginning of the stack, determined to read through every paper far more carefully.

Jackson, in his own hotel, watched, grinning. He could see her look of shock. He knew she would have expected to see that he was disturbed in school, or have a history of abuse, or some other life-altering revelation. He knew she wouldn't find anything major, but he had given her the right trail of breadcrumbs. He had applied to James Madison University (JMU) and the University of Virginia, and he knew she would eventually figure out that she should follow that trail. Not that his records there could be released, but he knew they would be equally non-descript. She would be surprised more by the course of action his life had taken, what he had done, but not the why.

She was just sitting there on the bed, and again, he touched her face on his screen, wondering why she couldn't understand him. She had been so sure she would find something horrifying in the files! He picked up his pen and threw it across the room, glad that he couldn't find anything else in his reach to throw against the wall, or he'd have had a real mess. She had thought she had known him so well! He saw her search the room service menu and make the call. He decided to make a different, more impulsive move on his part.

Lisa heard the knocking on the door and eager to receive her meal, opened the door with a genuine grin on her face that disappeared as soon as she saw who was in her doorway.

Jackson was standing there, grinning, in his jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket.  
"Hi Leese. Aren't you going to invite me in?, he asked, giving her the old charming grin that he had when they had first met.

Recovering from her initial shock, Lisa's face contorted into expressions of fear, anger, and confusion. She immediately attempted to close the door, putting her full body weight against it, but he simply put his foot in the doorway and his hands on the side of the door, preventing her from shutting it.

"Leave, Jackson, or I'll scream," she warned.

Now he smirked, resembling the Jackson she knew.

He didn't say anything at first, but he had that damn grin on his face.

"Why aren't you screaming, Lisa? What are you waiting for?"

She stood there silently, relaxing her hold on the door. She didn't know what she was waiting for. She should have been terrified and screaming hysterically; why wasn't she?

"I'll ask again. Aren't you going to invite me in?" He replied in response to her silence, flashing his smile.

She noticed that his teeth were also gorgeous, especially when he smiled. This smile was more innocent. His top teeth were perfectly straight, but his bottom teeth were scrunched together, just enough to be cute. He had changed his appearance, she noted, looking at his shorter, lighter, hair, his clothes, and his eye color. No longer did she see the piercing blue eyes that had once attracted her, that still attracted her.

"Contacts then or now?"

He seemed surprised; good, she wanted him to realize that she was unpredictable.

"Now."

He looked just as good with brown eyes. In fact, his hair cut/color made him look even better.

"Hair color?" she asked mechanically, still barring the door with her weight. She couldn't help but find this all a bit humorous.

"Natural now, not then."

He then pushed the door fully open and walked into the room, past her, and then shut the door quietly, brushing against her as he walked into her room.

He cleared his throat and sat in the chair in her room, relaxing.

"Don't worry," he assured her, with a look of concern on his face (could that be concern, she wondered?). "I'm not here to hurt you, and I know you have your meal on the way."

"If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already done so." He slouched a bit in the chair, relaxing.

"Well, aren't you going to say something? Surely the Xanax hasn't doped you up that much."

"Jackson… I'm calling the police if you don't get out."

He shrugged. "Go ahead."

But something was holding her back. "Don't you have any threats to hold over my head this time, or are you just going to start beating me again?" she spat at him sarcastically, folding her arms at first, then moving one of her hands protectively over her scar.

"Ah, the same old Leese emerging," he said, obviously pleased with himself.

There was a knock on the door, and they both looked at each other.

"Well, aren't you going to answer the door?"

Lisa went over and looked through the peep-hole, something she should have done the first time, she thought. Sure enough, it was room service. She reached for the doorknob, but then hesitated. Was it really room service, or some associate of Jackson's, waiting to kill her? She rubbed her forehead, for only a split second, debating.

"Go ahead, open the door, it's just the room service boy; I promise you I don't know him," Jackson said from the chair. "As a matter of fact, I hope you'll share your meal; I haven't eaten yet. I bet your psychic, and that's why you ordered the two sodas."

Wordlessly, scowling at him, she opened the door and the room service cart was wheeled in. She debated asking this guy for help, but looking at him, he was just a clueless kid. She signed for the food and tip and the boy left.

_Wait a minute. How had he known she had ordered two sodas, instead of one?_

"How long have you been watching me?" she asked, near the bathroom door, rooted to the spot.

"Long enough, Leese."

He could tell she was in a bit of shock by just his mere appearance. He took off his leather jacket and lay it on the bed, going over to the cart.

"Come on, Leese, eat, remember?" He took the cover off one of the plates. "Hmmm… what do we have here? Oh, a club sandwich, good! We can split it and I"ll pay the difference later. But then, I already knew that, didn't I?" he smirked as he looked over the mousse as well.

"Hmm… we have something else in common. Chocolate mousse and Sprite," he noted.

Jackson then sat on one of the double beds and began to eat, placing his napkin on his lap and opening one of the cans of Sprite.

"You know, Leese, if you're at all interested, I can tell you why you haven't yelled for help."

"Why?" she asked wearily, still standing near the door, ready to bolt, unable to figure out if he was playing with her or planned on truly hurting her.

"Your curiosity," he replied simply, taking a bite of the sandwich and adding, "come on and eat before I finish this all on my own. I have a tendency to eat slowly, but even at this rate I'll finish before you. "

"I'm not going to eat anything with you - are you crazy?" she shouted. "You tried to kill me!"

"All in day's work, and honestly, I thought you of all people would understand. Are you telling me you wouldn't have killed if your job required it?"

_He looked so innocent and earnest!_

"Are you kidding?" she asked him sarcastically, rage written on her face, eyes blazing. "Of course I wouldn't!"

"Yeah, well you acted like you would at times," he reminded her, standing. She noticeably cringed and he grinned, reveling in his power over her, feeling her fear. It was both a bit erotic, yet disturbing.

"Besides," he added, taking a drink of her soda, "Keefe was more corrupt than you can imagine."

"Ha," he continued, "and you think you have the ability to read people, Leese. Trust me; you don't," he gestured to himself, grinning. "And you'd be shocked, if you truly knew who my employer was."

He was right, she thought. She hadn't been able to see him for what he was at all. She had truly thought he was a nice guy.

He read her mind, tilting his head to the side between bites and commented, "Oh, don't worry, Leese. Maybe I'm not so far from the guy you imagined?" he asked, pointing to the folder on the bed and running his hand through his hair.

"You – it was you who sent me here."

"You're just figuring that out _now_? Come on, Lisa, I had thought more highly of you than that."

"You just can't resist, can you, Jack?"

"Resist what?" he asked, his face clouding over by the use of his nickname.

"Taunting me," she hissed.

"Likewise!" he yelled, jolting from the bed and heading towards her. She pulled back her left arm and aimed for his face, but made the mistake of closing her eyes and she punched. He grabbed her arm in mid-air and chided her, "Now, now, Leese," as he pinned her against the wall.

Jackson leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I told you not to call me that. You're lucky you're the only one I let get away with it. I let you push buttons I would let no one else push," he concluded gently.

"Oh, I guess calling you pathetic was more than you could stand, then," she whispered back into his ear, "because you threw me over the balcony of the stairs, remember?" she ended with a yell.

"You hurt me," he claimed honestly, then caught himself. "So I had to hurt you: Quid pro quo."

He pulled away a bit, as he managed to keep her from struggling out of his grasp. God, she was still so beautiful when angry. No one else he had ever met could quite compare. Especially in terms of rage. He had never dealt with someone quite as angry as Lisa Reseirt.

Jackson freed her one arm and pulled her closer to him, away from the wall. She stopped struggling for a minute and looked into his eyes. She moved her face closer, despite her will.

What am I doing? She thought to herself, completely caught up in the moment of attraction, the vulnerability she had witnessed.

She leaned her head in closer, tilting it, and her lips hovered near his, on instinct. Her brain was telling her no, no, no!

He just watched her, looking into her eyes. Neither of them made a move.

He pulled away first, saying, "No." He cleared his throat and looked at her, then away.

Lisa slumped against the wall, her hands in her face. She didn't know what to make of anything anymore.

She looked up at him, tears now streaking her face. "Who," she asked, "are you really, Jackson Rippner? And why are you here?"


	6. Chapter 6: Preparations

Who is Jackson Rippner?

Chapter 6: Preparations

I own none of these characters! I wish!

Sorry for the delay, everyone. Work always gets in the way, and I spend so many hours on the computer each day, that I am exhausted by the end of it – and it's hard to stay on that computer and write. But I will finish this, don't worry! It just may take some time. I always finish what I start.

Preparations

Lisa made progress. Jackson watched her every day, and she knew she was being watched. Sometimes, she would even look out her window with a wry smile and wave at him. It would anger him, but at the same time, delight him.

His little clues seemed to help her. He would drop hints by leaving her messages at her hotel, or call her on the phone. Most of the time, she was liable to snap at him and anger him even more. She constantly asked why he was doing this, and why she was even following his leads.

After about a week, Lisa had discovered that Jackson's past, for every intent and purpose, was normal. He had graduated from high school, and had begun to study at the University of Virginia. Once again, her customer service skills had been helpful in getting the information she needed; she learned that he began university in the fall of 1990. He majored in history and philosophy.

Then, on the seventh day, Lisa had an inspiration. She grabbed the phone book from her hotel nightstand drawer, found a pizza place, and had one delivered. She also looked up "Rippner" in the white pages and found four listings.

The next day, Lisa was at a pay phone. Let Jackson watch her all he wanted; he couldn't figure out what she was saying on a pay phone. It was so simple, but something she was sure he hadn't considered.

She hit the jackpot on her third call.

"Hello, my name is Lisa Reisert, and I'm calling about information regarding Jackson Rippner."

The woman was openly friendly and pleased. "Lisa, you said? Jackson is my son. How can I help you?"

"Well, you see, Mrs. Rippner, Jackson and I are old friends. I've lost touch with him and I can't seem to find him. I was wondering if you might be able to help."

"Hmm…" the woman said and Lisa heard rustling papers in the background. "I do have his current address somewhere, and his phone number. Jackson stays in touch with me often."

_Surprise number 1,_ Lisa thought.

"I'm sorry, Lisa, I just can't seem to find that paper right now. I always have it nearby, so it must be around here somewhere…."

"Actually, Mrs. Rippner, I was wondering if I could pay you a visit. You see, Jackson and I were very close, and I've never had the occasion to meet you. I always wished he had invited me to his home, to meet his parents, but he was always so private!" Lisa managed to chuckle in a girlish way, and the message she was trying to send was successful.

Mrs. Rippner laughed. "Oh, I see. You two dated. I always wondered why Jackson never brought a girl home. But then again, he always was very quiet, as you mentioned. No, I wouldn't mind a visit at all."

"That's just great, Mrs. Rippner. I've always wanted to meet you! The only problem is, I work third shift. I was wondering, if it isn't an imposition, if we could meet at 10 o'clock one night. I understand this might be late, but I do want to get in touch with Jackson."

"Oh, he's not here, dear, but I don't mind a late visit. Matter of fact, I'm quite a night person. I'm a nurse, and I work second shift, so I'm usually not out of work until 11 myself. I do have tomorrow off, though, if you'd like to come by then?"

Lisa had to restrain herself from shouting. "Yes, that would be perfect."

After settling the matter of directions, Lisa hung up the phone. It wouldn't be too difficult to get there, but fooling Jackson might be the tough part.

Jackson watched Lisa at the pay phone. _What was she up to?_ His eyes narrowed as he watched her from his hotel room, one hand on his hip and the other in his hair. She was using the phone out on the curb, in perfect view. It drove him crazy, knowing that she was taunting him. She could be so sneaky when she put her mind to it. Maybe another visit was in order; the sooner the better. _She is more like me than I thought._

Lisa knew he would come. It was the next day, in the evening. When she heard the knock, she wasn't at all surprised. And she was prepared; she had hoped his visit wouldn't occur until the evening, or her plan would be no good. She lucked out this time.

"Jackson, what a surprise," she exclaimed dramatically.

"Quit it," he said, brushing past her.

"What's the reason for this visit?"

"You know," he said menacingly, standing closely.

_He still has this effect on me,_ she thought_. I am attracted to him; I can't deny it._ But how could someone be attracted to a person who tried to kill you? Something in his eyes, though… she saw something that others didn't see, she wagered.

He looked into her eyes, searching for the answer. What was she up to? He didn't trust her. After about 30 seconds, seeing that her expression would give nothing away, he backed off.

Jackson sat on one of the beds. "I'm not what you think, you know. I've only lied to you once."

Lisa sighed and sat on the other bed. "So you keep saying. I need proof. And you said you never lied to me. Which one was the lie? And why, why are you doing this?"

He leaned over and whispered sarcastically, "Because I want to; if you can figure out what my lie was, then you hold the key to my background."

She stood up. Such arrogance! "Why don't you just tell me, Jackson?" she asked, folding her arms and reaching for some lemonade, sipping a bit of it.

"Oh, and before you take some for yourself, here you go," she said, thrusting her glass at him.

He took the glass and gulped down some of the lemonade. "Because I like the game better. If I told you, what would be the fun in that?"

"But why? Why do you want me to know you? I do know you. You tried to kill me, to hurt me. Not just externally, either."

He did look genuinely sorry, for a second, and then composed himself, clearing his throat and not meeting her eyes. "You gave me no choice. I had to do it."

"You didn't have to come to my house afterwards; that was pure revenge."

He sighed and finished his drink, put the glass down, and ran his hand through his shorter, lighter hair. She still couldn't get used to it, nor his new "look." He was still favoring jeans and t-shirts.

"Yes, Leese, it was revenge, I guess. I am sorry about that. I do tend to get violent, and you just don't know how important the operation was – the one that you thwarted. Plus, the pen in the throat sort of pissed me off, you know?" he concluded, rubbing his hand over his neck.

"Besides," he continued, "It's beyond you and me. It's bigger than a few lives. I didn't want to see the kids killed, no – but I didn't have a choice." He gulped and stared out the window. "It wasn't my decision to make."

"That's such a cop-out, Jackson."

"How do you know? You know nothing, Leese, but you think you do! You're as arrogant as I am, but ignorant of that fact!" He whirled around to confront her. "Yes, I was wrong to follow you home, it was pure animal instinct on my part. I was mad, very mad. I've been trained to think this way. But seeing myself like that, and almost dying, it's made me think. It's made me think a lot. You made me think a lot. I had never attacked a civilian in that way."

Lisa's mouth was slightly opened, her eyes wide at his outburst and confession. _Civilian? Was he military?_

Jackson's eyes dropped to the floor. "I've never met anyone like you. I can't believe you brought this out in me – I hate you for….." he shrugged, at a loss for words.

"For making you feel?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer and just glared at her with his icy blue eyes. His eyes could convey such cruelty.

Finally, he spoke. "Yes. Happy now?"

She moved closer to him. 'You take the fight out of me," he said.

Lisa touched his arm. "Your eyes are so icy, Jackson, but I see something more than the coldness in them."

He looked at her hand on his arm, but didn't move it away. Her touch felt good. He leaned over and his lips brushed hers. Then, he began to kiss her harshly. She met his movements equally and put her hand on the back of his head, to draw him closer to her.

He ran his hands through her hair and their lips parted. She put her head on his shoulder and rested there.

"What now?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied, pulling away and leaving her alone.

About an hour later, she went to bed. He watched her from his monitor. He was still suspicious, but he knew that he had fallen for her, completely, and it made him less sharp. Yet he knew he couldn't let his emotions for her get in the way. Perhaps, soon, he could give into them, but not yet.

He studied her sleeping form intently. He wanted to be there with her, beside her. Was she sleeping yet?

Suddenly, he felt tired himself. He didn't know what he felt anymore, or how he had come to be in this state. He decided to go to bed, tired of his brain. He was thinking too much; his mind was constantly racing. He needed to relax.

_Sleep_, he thought_, would be good. I'll figure out the problem tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, I can figure Leese out as well._

After an hour of lying in the dark, Lisa got up. She saw Jackson's light go out about 40 minutes ago, but she didn't want to take any chances. She knew he had cameras somewhere in her room and was watching her, but she was watching him as well. She put her extra pillows under her covers, along with her own pair of binoculars, quickly dressed, and grabbed her car keys and purse. The Xanax in the lemonade had worked well on Jackson; it put him right to sleep. She had a higher tolerance, but she had guessed that about a milligram would be a good amount to knock him out. She grinned as she left the hotel and made her way to her car, parked on the other side of the building today, away from her room, and out of his sight.


	7. Chapter 7: Lisa's Shock

So sorry for the delay everyone!!! No matter how much time passes, I WILL finish this story, don't worry. Hang in there with me. I have a bit of a break from teaching my classes and I'm trying to relax more and concentrate on my writing.

I hope your patience is rewarded and you like what you read. --- Teresa

**Chapter VII: Lisa's Shock**

Jackson's eyes flew open and he sat up in his bed. Something was wrong; he felt it. Why had he fallen asleep so quickly? He looked at the clock He hadn't been out for long, but it was long enough. He felt dazed and groggy and immediately took a look into Lisa's room. She was nowhere to be seen, and he wasn't fooled by the pillows in the bed for a minute. He smirked, thinking that she still had a few things to learn.

Suddenly and instinctively, he knew what had happened. He berated himself for being so stupid. One of the foremost rules in his training had been to watch what he ate and drank. Never, ever take a drink if in doubt about its contents. She had drugged him; that much was clear. He had been careless, foolish, and emotional. She had tricked him, and a part of him felt betrayed. The other part of him felt as if he didn't have a right to feel that way, considering the situation and his treatment of her. Even though it couldn't have been helped, he did feel responsible.

It took him only a few seconds to figure out where she had gone and who she had been calling at the pay phone. It was so elementary that he couldn't believe he didn't think of it before; she was here to find out about his past, and that's what she was doing. He led her into this, and he had underestimated her once again. He thought it might take her weeks to find his mother, but he was wrong.

He pulled himself off the bed and despite feeling annoyed with her, he felt relaxed. _Xanax,_ he thought. She always carried it with her since… since his attack.

He forced himself to get with it and fumbled for his car keys. It took him a few moments to clear his head and then he made his way to his car.

Lisa was a bit surprised by the woman who opened the door to the small house she had found. It was a nice neighborhood, normal in every way. She could see nothing different or unique about it; even the house looked normal.

The woman, in her late 50s, Lisa judged, was of medium height and build. She had dark hair and full lips – and those icy eyes she had come to know so well: Jackson's eyes.

"Mrs. Rippner?" Lisa asked

"Yes, Lisa?" the women inquired.

Lisa smiled, relieved, and comforted by the woman. She instinctively knew that this woman could be trusted and there wasn't any danger here.

A few minutes later, they were settled in the living room. Mrs. Rippner, or as she had instructed Lisa to call her, Susan, was fetching beverages in the kitchen and Lisa was left in the room to look around. Susan. Such an ordinary name. An ordinary house, with pictures on the wall, which Lisa now examined.

A young Jackson, smiling for the camera. But only with his mother – no father in sight. Then Lisa caught sight of a triangular object displayed in a glass case. A flag. And above that, a picture of a smiling young man, the very image of Jackson, but without his eyes. He was dressed in uniform.

Jackson had lost his father in the Vietnam War. He must have never even known him.

Susan walked into the room with a can of Coke and one of Sprite, with two glasses. She handed the Sprite and a glass to Lisa.

"Thanks," Lisa told her, accepting the drink and the glass. She opened her can and poured the liquid into the glass, sipping it slowly. She was so nervous that she didn't think she could get it down.

They began the small talk. Susan waited, knowing that Lisa was there for a reason. Lisa could see that in her eyes, could see the shrewdness and patience. She would wait for Lisa to start.

Lisa composed herself quickly and cleared her throat. She sat opposite Susan, who was on the couch.

"I haven't seen Jackson in a long time," Lisa began, feeling dishonest, but finding it very easy to lie. "I don't know where to start."

Susan sipped her own drink. "Join the club," she laughed lightly. "I don't get to see him too much, but he does make it home for the holidays."

"How do you know Jackson?" she asked Lisa. "Did you go to school with him?" She was a pleasant woman, adept with people and chatting, Lisa could sense. She seemed like the nurturing type, and was probably a natural when it came to nursing and caring for people.

Lisa tucked her hair behind her right ear. "Yes, as a matter of fact I did go to school with him."

"Where?"

"Where?" Lisa echoed. "Well, at the University of Virginia." She paused, confused. "Why, did he attend another college?"

Susan looked at her. "How long has it been since you saw Jackson?" she asked, gesturing to two large frames over the television set.

Lisa stared at the frames, and couldn't believe she had missed them. She slowly rose from her chair and walked over to them. One was of Jackson, with his mother, in a uniform. He was smiling, happy. He looked so different, like another person. Lisa didn't see the tormented, violent expression that she knew so well. He looked more like the man she had met at the airport, with a genuine smile on his face. The other document was a degree from the FBI. Jackson was an FBI agent.

Lisa drew in a sharp breath, but quietly enough so that Susan wouldn't hear. Was the man she had chatted over with drinks the true Jackson? Was the violent Jackson the act? He was an FBI agent, according to this. She had tried to prepare herself for this visit, but she would have never, not in a million years, have expected this. But why would the FBI…

Lisa turned back to Susan, speechless at first, but she quickly regaining her composure. "Jackson is an FBI agent?"

Susan beamed. "He graduated at the top of his class. That's why I don't see him so much. But he does such good – just like his father did. Both of them have served their country well."

"Jackson's father…" Lisa started.

"Yes, he died in the war, before Jackson was even born. But Jackson was such a happy child in spite of it. He would study pictures of his father for hours and read everything about the Vietnam War."

Lisa sat back down. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to act so surprised. It's just that the Jackson I know.. knew… was so different. He was so reserved, so in control. We were very close."

"Well, those are two of his most prominent traits," Susan replied, smiling warmly. "But it's not in a bad way; Jackson cares about people, but often tries to hide his emotions. Even though he wanted to know everything about his father, he was loathe to ask me. He needed to be in control of the information. "

Susan rose from the couch. "Sorry to cut this short, Lisa, but I must get going if I'm going to be on time for work…" she looked at her watch.

"Oh, of course, I'm so sorry, Susan. I should be on my way." Lisa grabbed her purse.

Susan looked confused. "I thought you wanted Jackson's contact information? It was nice of you to visit and not just get the information over the phone. I haven't meant many of Jackson's friends."

"Yes…" she stammered, reaching for the information Susan handed her. "I'm going to get in touch with him right away." _Sooner than she thinks._

Susan smiled. "It was so nice to meet you, Lisa. Actually, Jackson should be visiting soon if you want to arrange a visit."

After their goodbyes and Susan's open invitation to visit in the future, Lisa staggered to her car, exhausted.

Across the street, in his own car, Jackson watched her. He started the engine and knew he'd make it back to her hotel before she did. He knew the area much better.

From the look on her face, she knew more than she had before: how could she not? He grimaced and wondered if he had made the right choice. Did he really want her to know too much, to get too close? Well, there was no going back. He would have to face her. Now.


End file.
